


ever do you wonder

by saraheli



Category: SF9 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 05:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15332448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saraheli/pseuds/saraheli
Summary: In a world where writing on your skin isn’t all that uncommon, Inseong is still majorly irritated when he feels the lyrics to silent songs write themselves up and down his forearms every evening as he tries to finish his studies.





	ever do you wonder

Inseong loved his evenings in the library. He loved the silence sprinkled with the scratches of pencil on paper and fingers on keyboards; he loved being able to focus on what he pleased, and he loved being able to get through everything before dinner. What he did  _ not  _ love was the slight tickle he felt under his skin as the sun began to set each evening as he worked. 

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, and, though everyone’s was slightly different, everyone had a soulmate condition. Some people had color blindness until they met their soulmate, others adorned birthmarks in the same curvature of their fated’s fingerprint, but Inseong had been blessed with the ability to broadcast any handwritten words of his will-be-lover over any and all surfaces of his skin. 

They were mostly personal notes at first along with whatever problems and exercises he’d—and yes, the handwriting  _ did _ indeed indicate that its owner was a messy-handed young man—done in grade school, but as the years passed, they turned into long, spiraling, and sometimes nonsensical, phrases. Inseong thought it might have been poetry at first, but now he knew that they were unquestionably lyrics to a song without a melody. 

In the evenings, he used to let himself fantasize about who this whimsical songwriter might be, but as he grew older, the familiar tickle of what he believed must have been ballpoint pen became less and less interesting to him. It turned to an annoyance and nothing short of an interruption to his would-be undying focus on his essays and analysis, and as he drew closer to his degree, he grew more and more irritated with it. It made him itch and grumble to himself, and, sometimes, there were times his friends grew bothered with his disposition. 

“Why are you so ungrateful to have such a constant connection to him? So many of us have to wait  _ actual _ lifetimes, so…” 

Inseong’s lips pressed into a thin line as his friend spoke, and her voice drilled a cool mixture of guilt and frustration. He knew she was right, and in past years he had fantasized about what kind of person he might have been. In his freshman year at university, Inseong was certain that whoever he was destined to be with was someone handsome, someone classy and well-kept who wrote prestigious poetry and was saving himself purely for his one and only. As he grew up, these fantasies diminished, and he knew that whoever was writing this poorly rhymed lyrics was nothing more than a normal guy doing nothing but pouring over his poor little emotions every evening rather than doing anything useful. There was never a night missed, after all; what could that be doing? These sorts of thoughts bred a dull solemness inside Inseong, made him wonder what the point of the future could be if his end-all destiny would be some mindless, artsy boy who smoked outside of bars and wore pre-ripped jeans with his leather jacket. Someone might call that romantic, but Inseong thought it immature. 

Inseong met Jaeyoon in person for the first time in a 100-level algebra class. Inseong acted as a teaching assistant to the professor, and Jaeyoon was a pupil who needed his one last gen-ed class in order to graduate on time. Jaeyoon watched Inseong every day, his eraser stuck between his parted lips rather than focusing on anything pertinent to the class. 

“Can I help you with something?” Inseong asked, coming to stand by his seat one afternoon. 

Jaeyoon had chuckled then and shaken his head, “No, sorry, was I obvious?”

“Excuse me?”

“My staring, I mean, of course, you noticed. Sorry, you’re just really cute.”

Inseong scrunched up his nose, “I would strongly recommend you pay attention. The homework will only be harder if you don’t.” 

Jaeyoon chuckled at that, “Inseong, right? You’re in my year.”

“Yup.”

“I’m Jaeyoon, by the way. I think we’ve met.”

“I’m sure we have,” Inseong said, flatting his lips into a thin line as he began to make his way to other students that seemed to need help. 

The next classes were no different, but with each passing day, Jaeyoon would get chattier and chattier, grinding against Inseong’s nerves. He relaxed a little when the boy quieted down, and he was interesting to talk to when they ran into each other in the cafe or in the quad. He talked a lot about books and the planet and wishing for things that were impossible. 

One late night in specific, Jaeyoon interrupted Inseong in the library. It was unusual because the writing on his arms had not begun, and he was finally able to get things done at his usual pace. 

“Hey, what are you working on?” Jaeyoon whispered, dropping his bag beside Inseong’s seat. 

Inseong sighed, “Calculus.” 

“Damn,” he leaned over to see, “You must be some kind of—wait, why are you doing calculus on the computer?”

Inseong shrugged, “Because, well, my Connection Condition is handwriting related, so I just don’t want to write a bunch of math problems all over someone. It would be a crazy amount, and I don’t imagine they would like it very much.”

“Ah,” Jaeyoon nodded in understanding. “Mine is, too. Yeah, that’s why I stopped handwriting my essays and stuff.” He chuckled, “They must have gotten a ton of my poems earlier this year. I just couldn’t get them out most of the time. Tons of words scratched out and stuff.” 

Inseong nodded, but he raised his eyebrows. It was rare to have a Condition so intimate as a handwriting one; they were rare and strong, so it was unusual to meet someone else with the type by chance. He cleared his throat. “So, you’re a writer, huh?”

“That’s the goal, but, well, it’s not just that. It’s music, too. I was mostly writing song lyrics, but...well, they didn’t turn out quite right. The rhymes were always so cheap. Didn’t like them much.”

Jaeyoon took out his laptop and unlocked it so that he could begin his own work. 

“So, since you TA for Frank, you must be into math. Engineering?”

“Physics,” Inseong corrected. 

“Huh,” Jaeyoon leaned back in his seat. He was quiet for another minute. “Well, I actually came over here to ask if you could help me with the homework from my math class. I’m not really—”

“You’d be getting it if you paid attention in class,” Inseong interrupted flatly. 

The other boy let out a nervous huff of a laugh. “Right. Well, could you help me anyway? It is your fault I can’t pay attention after all.”

Inseong rolled his eyes. Since their first interaction this semester, Jaeyoon had made it known how attractive he found Inseong, but Inseong took this as little more than an open invitation to a one-night-stand which was, frankly, not something he was interested in.

“Okay…” Inseong said, a strand of frustration weaved through his voice. “Um, so give me a piece of paper, I can write it out for you.” 

“What about—”

“It’s one math problem, they’ll live, and your grade is a little more important I think. You want my help or not?” 

Jaeyoon raised his hands a bit in surrender, “Go ahead.” He slid his notebook and a pen over to him. 

With a sigh, Inseong copied down the problem. He slid the paper over to Jaeyoon who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just...Feels like someone’s writing on me now. I’m pretty good at ignoring it. Just caught me by surprise is all.”

“Okay,” Inseong looked back down to the paper. “So, you start here,” he underlined a part of the problem. “Do you know where to go from that point?”

“Um,” he scratched the side of his neck, faint numbers printing themselves in Inseong’s handwriting there. “I’m not sure.” 

Inseong continued, showing him where to go next. The younger boy rested his hand next to the elders as he wrote. Jaeyoon’s eyes watched intently what Inseong wrote, his tongue flickering between his lips. Inseong didn’t notice, too focused on making sure his writing was legible, and then he looked back up at Jaeyoon. 

“What about—” he paused, words faltering as he noticed his own scratching itself beneath the cover of Jaeyoon’s tee shirt collar. “Oh shit.” 

Jaeyoon furrowed his eyebrows, “What’s wrong? Did you make a mistake?”

“No,” Inseong dropped the pen and stood up, scrambling to shove his things into his backpack. “I have to go.”

“Inseong, did I do something? Because I swear I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t do anything, I just...I have to go.” He took his things and darted out of the library.

Inseong avoided Jaeyoon’s gaze in the next algebra class, gluing himself to the opposite side of the room. After all of these years of fantasizing and then sulking, Inseong couldn’t believe that Jaeyoon was supposed to be the one that the great cosmic game of chance had chosen for him. It wasn’t that he was unattractive or mean or even dumb, it was that he seemed to think he was too good for the practical arts, or, rather, what Inseong loved. He was indeed an artsy boy with ripped jeans and messy hair and eyes that begged to be met every time that Inseong felt them on him. 

And the worst part? Jaeyoon had no idea that Inseong was meant to belong to him. He was being his true, authentic, math-hating, cheap-rhyming self. This couldn’t be an act. 

After class, Inseong felt a hand wrap around his bicep and pull him into a hallway slightly off the busier one. 

“Hey,” Inseong looked up at Jaeyoon when he spoke. “I know we’re not particularly good friends or anything, but what the hell? What happened the other night?”

Inseong felt his face turn red, and he hoped that the fluorescent lights were hiding their color. He shook his head, clenching his jaw and looking to the side to avoid eye contact with Jaeyoon, who huffed in frustration. 

“Look, I just need to know what I did because I know it seems like I just think you’re hot—which, I do think you’re hot, let’s not get things twisted here—but I actually like you. You’re smart and driven, and I just want to know how I fucked things up without knowing you for more than a few weeks.” 

Inseong swallowed audibly, “I...It’s complicated.” He paused, “You know how I told you that you that my Connection Condition is handwriting related? Well, I know that y-your’s is too and—”

Jaeyoon sighed in relief, seeming to smile at what he assumed to be Inseong’s naivete. “And that freaked you out, huh? What if you just met your soulmate, right? Well, I can tell you that the odds that I am your soulmate just because I’ve got the same Condition as you are  _ so fucking small _ —”

“But you are,” Inseong snapped, not happy about being interrupted. “I saw the math problem from your stupid fucking homework on your neck when we were together. It was my handwriting.”

Jaeyoon’s mouth opened as if he were going to say something, but nothing came out. His mind was beginning to spin, and he felt his pulse pick up.

“This is so stupid,” Inseong whispered, his eye pricking with tears. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. I mean seriously? You and me?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jaeyoon asked, finally collecting himself. 

“We’re just...we’re so…”

“Different? What the hell did you expect, Inseong? Some perfect engineer with sparkling baby blues and a magic dick? Well, unfortunately, he doesn’t exist, and, even if he did, the universe clearly thinks that I’m a better match anyway.” He huffed, “Is it because you think you’re too good for me? Because, shit, I know that I’m no math genius, and my lyrics are shit, you’ve seen that much first hand, but,  _ fuck _ , I thought maybe there would be someone on this planet—”

“Hey, stop it,” Inseong said abruptly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I just...I don’t know. I guess all the talking that everyone does about soulmates has me a little too in my head. I know I’m not too good for you, or anyone for that matter, and I know you’re no idiot. I never thought that...I just...I thought you were disrespectful. I thought you didn’t care about the things I cared about.” He shrugged.

“You don’t know that yet; I barely know what you care about. I don’t even know your favorite color,” Jaeyoon said, letting out a weak laugh as the mood lightened slightly between them. 

There was a lull in which Inseong could feel that Jaeyoon was right. He knew that there was so much to learn, and he knew that he could feel his own heart beating hard against the inside of his ribs because holy shit Jaeyoon was so close and he smelled so good and they had the whole world in front of them now. He was scared, too, because what if he wasn’t enough? What if they wouldn't be happy? What if his Connection was the one in a million that ended in divorce? He took a deep and uneven breath. 

“Pink,” he said quietly. 

Jaeyoon met Inseong’s eyes again, the corners of his lips quirking upward. “What?”

“My favorite color is pink.”

The younger boy laughed and let his eyes close as he smiled, the tension between them melting into nervous butterflies and the fragile petals of a newly bloomed iris as they stood together and merely breathed the same air for a little while. 

**Author's Note:**

> ps: considering writing a second part/epilogue to this exploring how their relationship goes! let me know if you'd be interested in that!!!


End file.
